The Story of Boneless Chuck
In the Beginning…
In 1986, I was a 24-year-old illustrator/cartoonist living in New York City. It was a beautiful Friday morning in July, and I was excited. I had a full day of appointments with several influential art directors—meetings I’d been chasing for months. The early morning air was hot and muggy, and my interview suit clung to me, but I hit the streets with my portfolio under my arm, full of excitement and anticipation.
That excitement was short-lived as one by one, each art director stood me up. Their assistants explained that it was too beautiful a day to be in the office, and they’d escaped to the Hamptons and the beach to beat traffic and kick off the weekend early. Excuse me—why didn’t anyone call me to reschedule? Hey, I wouldn’t have minded starting my weekend early, too—but I had appointments. My whole day was wasted. I traipsed all over town, spent money on cabs I couldn’t afford, endured the smothering heat of the subway—and I was not a happy camper.
There Was Humor…
When I finally got home, I peeled off my soggy, misshapen suit and grabbed a cold beer from the fridge. I flicked on the TV and collapsed on my bed in front of the fan. The ice-cold beer was refreshing. I closed my eyes and held the cold bottle to my forehead. Just then, the TV announced, “A big, city-wide sale on boneless chuck!” at the local supermarket. I thought, “There must be a huge sale on boneless chuck—because I’ve been dealing with nothing but boneless, inconsiderate people all day.” I imagined a meat freezer with boneless, spineless, wimpy people packaged like hamburger! It made me laugh—and after the day I had, I needed to laugh.
Creation Begins…
I grabbed a pen and sketched what I’d imagined. It made me chuckle. Then, I had an idea. I quickly dressed and headed back outside, stopping at the little fabric store around the corner, before swinging by the supermarket. I returned home with pink fabric and thread, dried beans, plastic wrap, and a couple of Styrofoam meat trays. A few hours later—Boneless Chuck was born.
An Inside Joke…
Given his origin, I called my silly beanbag creation, Boneless Chuck: The Spineless Wimp. He quickly became an inside joke among my friends. Whenever one of us wimped out or failed to follow through on something, we’d say: “Don’t be a Boneless Chuck.” I wondered if other people would respond similarly, so I put his drawing in my portfolio.
Sure enough, people laughed and exclaimed, “Oh my gosh, this is so funny—I know so many Boneless Chucks!” This inspired me to write a description of whatever this thing was that I’d created.
Let There Be Life…
I began to wonder if this might be something more. So I started searching for a company willing to manufacture and distribute him. Most couldn’t wrap their heads around a wimpy hamburger doll—and weren’t quite sure why they’d agreed to meet with me at all.
Three years later, in 1989, I finally found a manufacturer, and Boneless Chuck: The Spineless Wimp debuted in stores across the country. Seeing my silly doodle become real was thrilling—there he was, sitting on store shelves in a freezer display I designed myself, looking exactly the way I’d imagined.
Then something miraculous happened.
And People Said, It Was Good…
Newspapers wrote about him. Radio stations featured him. A New Jersey morning show promoted Chuck on the air—and listeners loved him. They called in with stories of the “Boneless Chuck” in their own lives: bosses, boyfriends, husbands, wives.
The station launched a “Boneless Chuck Write-In Campaign” for any office where voters found the real candidates unappealing. At their annual Halloween Fair, seven thousand listeners showed up—and more than 200 arrived carrying “Boneless Chuck for Office” posters. Sight unseen, people wanted him to serve as everything from governor to local commissioner to high school principal. Incredibly, Boneless Chuck even received actual write-in votes for Governor of New Jersey. Chuck had a public.
But just as he was taking off, a recession hit. The company I had licensed him to went out of business. And just like that, Boneless Chuck was gone.
Or so I thought.
I GOT HIM WRONG—BUT I GOT HIM RIGHT…
A Snake In The Garden…
I was disappointed—but also proud he’d gotten as far as he had, especially considering I’d created him purely for my own amusement. So Chuck went back on my shelf.
Here’s the problem: I learned the company had gone bankrupt months after it happened. Not from a call or an apology, but from a letter containing a check for $25—and a box with a dozen Chucks inside. Twenty-five dollars. That’s it.
I never received the royalties I was owed. They’d liquidated their remaining inventory, and those twelve Boneless Chucks were all that remained. The only proof that he’d ever existed.
Title This…
Newspapers wrote about him. Radio stations featured him. A New Jersey morning show promoted Chuck on the air—and listeners loved him. They called in with stories of the “Boneless Chuck” in their own lives: bosses, boyfriends, husbands, wives.
The station launched a Boneless Chuck write-in campaign for any office where voters found the real candidates unappealing. At their annual Halloween Fair, seven thousand listeners showed up—and more than 200 arrived carrying “Boneless Chuck for Office” posters. Sight unseen, people wanted him to serve as everything from governor to local commissioner to high school principal. Incredibly, Boneless Chuck even received actual write-in votes for Governor of New Jersey.
But just as he was taking off, a recession hit. The company I had licensed him to went out of business. And just like that, Boneless Chuck was gone.
Or so I thought.
The Garden of Uncertainty…
I began to wonder if this might be something more. So I started searching for a company willing to manufacture and distribute him. Most couldn’t wrap their heads around a wimpy hamburger doll—and weren’t quite sure why they’d agreed to meet with me at all. Three years later, in 1989, I finally found a manufacturer, and Boneless Chuck: The Spineless Wimp debuted in stores across the country. Seeing my silly doodle become real was thrilling—there he was, sitting on store shelves in a freezer display I designed myself, looking exactly the way I’d imagined.
Then something miraculous happened.
Title This…
Newspapers wrote about him. Radio stations featured him. A New Jersey morning show promoted Chuck on the air—and listeners loved him. They called in with stories of the “Boneless Chuck” in their own lives: bosses, boyfriends, husbands, wives.
The station launched a Boneless Chuck write-in campaign for any office where voters found the real candidates unappealing. At their annual Halloween Fair, seven thousand listeners showed up—and more than 200 arrived carrying “Boneless Chuck for Office” posters. Sight unseen, people wanted him to serve as everything from governor to local commissioner to high school principal. Incredibly, Boneless Chuck even received actual write-in votes for Governor of New Jersey.
But just as he was taking off, a recession hit. The company I had licensed him to went out of business. And just like that, Boneless Chuck was gone.
Or so I thought.
“Life is like a cuddle with Boneless Chuck—soft, warm, and full of surprises!”
What Chuck’s Fans Are Writing
“Boneless Chuck is a cherished part of my collection. Every time I see him, I’m reminded of the simple joys of childhood. He’s more than just a doll; he’s a friend.”
Emily R.
Michael T.
Sarah L.